Lavender
by firewaterspaceairearth
Summary: Kurt and Blaine are at the mall one day, when they meet some jocks. And obviously, because they're jerks, the jocks begin taunting Kurt. About his mother. Who's dead.


_If you recognise it, it's not mine._

* * *

The two boys made their way throught the crowded mall together. The taller of the two would often dive into some shop or other excitedly, pulling the other with him. After a while, the pair reached a small group of seats.

"Look, you wait here. I'll go buy us coffee."

"No, let me pay."

But the shorter boy had already walked off. Several meters away, two boys wearing familiar red jackets let him get further away, before sharing glances. A malicious smirk grew on their faces and they headed towards the boy, now sitting alone. Unsuspecting. Vulnerable.

* * *

Kurt leant back in the chair. He really should stop Blaine from paying for everything. Unfortunately, the other boy had the same idea applying to him. It was a chilly day. Perfect for spending time indoors at the nice warm mall. Suddenly, a pair of shadows fell over him.

"Why, hello there, _Lady_."

Kurt fixed the boys with an icy stare.

"Anything I can do for you?"

The two boys chuckled meanly.

"Y'know, we've been thinking..."

"Your mom must be pretty upset."

Kurt's eyes narrowed.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I'm sure that any decent parent wouldn't want her kid to be a fag."

Kurt's eyes widened. A tremor of his bottom lip made the jocks laugh.

"Aww, gonna cry?"

"Gonna run home to mommy?"

"Mommy's boy."

"Mommy, mommy! The big boys were picking on me!" one warbles in a high pitched voice.

"Well, guess what. Mommy. Won't. Care. Who'd want a freak like you for a kid?"

Kurt's eyes filled with tears.

"You shut up," he whispered.

"You shut up about my mom."

The jocks jeered.

"Sore subject, lady? Your momma..."

"Your momma so stupid she thought you were a girl!"

"Your momma so ugly she thought you were adopted!"

On and on, crueller and crueller, until- "Your momma so ashamed she'd rather die than have a fag for a son!"

Kurt stood up. Even as he heard Blaine's voice, returning at last, calling out to him, he ran. Tears streaking down his face, shoving shoppers left and right, Kurt ran out of the mall, through the streets until he reached a small churchyard. He curled up under a tree and sobbed.

* * *

Blaine hummed happily as he walked back with the coffee to where Kurt had been. His smile faded as he saw some all too familiar jackets clustered round the table. As he drew closer, he heard a jeering laugh and a pained whimper.

"-rather die than have a fag for a son!"

Blaine's heart flew into his mouth.

"Kurt!" he called, desparately looking for the slim countertenor.

"Kurt!"

Too late, he saw the boy pushing through the crowds, tears running down his face. Blaine strode up to the jocks, who were laughing to themselves.

"What did you do to him!" he yelled.

A group of people turned at the raised voice.

"What?" one of the jocks said, looking down at the short teenager shouting at him.

"You heard me. What the hell did you do to him!"

"Nothing. Just thought he should be put in his place a little."

"Nothing doesn't send someone running away in tears. What did you do!"

The taller jock stepped forward. Several inches taller than Blaine, he smirked.

"Oh, just a few nicknames. He's used to them."

The sentence hung in the air.

"And?"

"A few 'your momma' jokes, but-"

Blaine dropped the cups, coffee splashing over his shoes.

"You did what?"

"Made jokes, about how his mom wouldn't want him. You know, cause he's a little gay freak."

The second jock stepped forward.

"Got a problem with that? You his little gay boyfriend?"

Blaine swore at him.

"His mom's _dead_, you idiots!"

Without waiting to see their reactions, Blaine turned and went after his friend.

Once out in the street, he realised he didn't know which way Kurt went.

"Kurt?" he called hesitantly.

A girl holding a stack of leaflets came over to him.

"Pale, brown hair, great clothes, about this tall?"

"Yeah. Have you seen him?"

"He was running, up that way. I think he was crying..."

"Thank you!"

Blaine charged along the pavement, muttering apologies as he knocked pedestrians flying. At the end of the street, a sign caught his eye.

'Lima Saints Churchyard'. Blaine slipped through the gate, calling Kurt's name softly. Soon he heard sobs. Heading towards them, he spotted the countertenor curled up under a spreading oak tree.

"Oh, Kurt," he breathed sadly. Blaine knelt at the boy's side, wrapping his arm round his shoulders. Kurt burrowed into his chest, simply crying deep, heart-wrenching sobs.

"Kurt, it's ok. You're fine, they're just a bunch of idiots."

Blaine held Kurt as he cried, shaking with cold and exhaustion.

Kurt pulled away, stumbling to a small gravestone Blaine hadn't noticed. Blaine leaned over to see the words on the stone.

_'Elizabeth Hummel._

_Beloved wife and mother._

_The sunshine of our lives.'_

Blaine bit his lip. He didn't want to drag Kurt away from his mother's gravestone, but he was shivering, pale and tearstained. Any longer and he'd probably get sick.

"Kurt? We've got to go, ok?"

"T-they were s-saying things, t-that my m-mom wouldn't w-want me b-because I'm g-gay a-and I j-just don't know w-what to d-do and I c-can't ask b-because s-she's d-d-" Kurt choked on the word, curling into Blaine's arms. The shorter boy pulled him to his feet, guiding him towards the path.

"Kurt? You ok to walk?"

Kurt shook his head weakly.

"I w-want m-mom" he whispered, before crumpling on the grass. Blaine fell to his knees beside him, shaking him gently.

"Kurt! Wake up! Kurt?"

But Kurt just lay there. Blaine carefully scooped him up, awkwardly trying to balance the taller boy.

* * *

Needless to say, when the doorbell rang, Burt Hummel was shocked to open the door and see his son unconscious, held by a shaking teenager with wild curls.

"He just..."

Burt lifted the boy from Blaine's arms, carrying him to his bedroom. Blaine followed, placing Kurt's bag on his desk. Burt looked up from gently wrapping his son in blankets.

"What happened?"

"I don't really know. I went to get coffee, and when I got back these two guys were just...saying stuff, and Kurt ran away. I yelled at the guys, and when I found Kurt, he was hysterical, he could hardly breathe for crying. He just curled up against his mom's gravestone, and passed out when I tried to take him back. I think he was just really exhausted, but he didn't look too great. He was shaking and stuff, and his face was so pale..."

Burt frowned anxiously.

"What did they say?"

Blaine fidgeted. This wasn't the sort of thing that you wanted to tell the father of a boy who had spent the last half hour sobbing over his dead mother.

"Blaine. Tell me."

"I...I asked them, and they said they'd just been calling him names, and then they said that they'd been saying some 'your momma' jokes. I..I think I heard the end of one of them. They called him a...a fag, and said his mother would rather die than have him as a son."

Burt gripped Kurt's duvet.

"I'll kill them. I swear, they can't just do that. How could they, I mean.."

Blaine sighed sadly. Kurt and Burt didn't deserve this.

"Mr Hummel, should I leave?"

"No, stay until he wakes up. He might want to talk."

"Sir? Is there something different, about today?"

Burt laughed, a bittersweet murmur.

"You could say that. See that picture there, on the dresser?"

Blaine looked. It showed a much younger Kurt holding hands with a woman who looked a lot like him. Same chestnut hair, same blue-green eyes, same smile.

"That's Elizabeth. She always wore lavender pefume. Filled the house with it. Sometimes I can still smell it."

Blaine felt like crying, but he squashed the tears down.

"Today... Kurt gets like this every year. He hides in his room crying. Sometimes he goes out, like today, but he always comes home in tears. People don't understand. They just break him every single day, but it's always worse today."

Blaine finally finds his voice.

"W-why?"

Burt sighs, a deep, sad breath.

"You know she died when Kurt was just a kid?"

"Yeah. He doesn't like to talk about it."

Burt gestured to the picture again.

"That was taken when Kurt was almost eight. Three months later she died. Ten years ago today."

And Blaine thinks of the cold gravestone wet with Elizabeth Hummel's son's tears.

Kurt stirs in his sleep.

"Mom..." he mumbles, a lone tear slipping down his cheek. And for one second, Blaine is sure that he smells the scent of lavender.


End file.
